


come home

by dubberclick



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gen, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Suicide Attempt, another take on how richie is after the final fight, he do, hint: not good, how to make a richie centric fic /not/ angst ? bring in the losers, in another word i love ben, they care a lot about this poor man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubberclick/pseuds/dubberclick
Summary: He lugs the duffel into his lap and looks over the contents: five or six bottles of liquor squished around the miniature shotgun like fucked up packing peanuts.Welcome to Derry,he hears.Did you come to celebrate?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> an anotha one. i can't stop making richie hurt but this time he's not alone cause i actually watched the movie and know more about the others and feel like i can actually make a proper story this time. you're welcome. here's pain.
> 
> songs are _ sweetie little jean _ by cage the elephant and _ all die young _ by smith westerns____

Richie comes back a year later, but not exactly. He didn't bother telling his agent where he was going or why he was leaving because he really didn't need to know. Richie's career had taken a devastating dive and he remembered being let off the hook surprisingly easy. Everyone thought he maybe just needed a break, a vacation to gather himself again. So they let him go. He takes the clothes on his back, a card he drained all of his money onto, a duffel bag of alcohol and a short, old little double barrel. He hadn't thought twice squeezing that in the bag and throwing it in the back seat of his red top-down. He didn't think about much anymore, really.

He leaves at 8:34 am after he'd picked himself off his kitchen floor and found two stray contacts since he accidentally broke his glasses the other day. The walk to his garage is numb and the drive is number and he's pulled over three times by the time he makes it to Missouri because he makes a half-country drive in 16 hours. He doesn't feel tired, but he pulls into a Walmart parking lot anyways and closes his eyes for a bit because he kept swerving when his eyes glazed over and his mind wandered.

Richie was staring out the window at the dark sky and the late night shoppers scuttling around the parking lot when his phone went off. He'd forgotten it in his pocket and watched the faint glow through his jeans. He stared at it for a while and it went to voicemail and turned off. He sat in silence once more and looked back outside. Only a couple people noticed him and he watched the stray couple seagulls clean the pavement.

The phone rang again and vibrated on his thigh and only then Richie reached to pull it out. He blinked away the stray haze in his eyes and read the screen.  _ Bill Denbrough _ . His heart sagged as he answered the call. " _ Richie? _ " The voice asked after he didn't muster the energy to move his lips.

"Hey, Bill." He said, phone in hand and falling to his lap. He almost forgot to hit speaker. Silence poured into the car and Richie watched the world through his windshield.

" _ Hey, man. _ " Bill finally said, sounding quiet. " _ Just wanted to check up on you.. 'Cause.. _ " His voice carried off but Richie heard the rest of the sentence, anyways. ' _ Cause Eddie's birthday is tomorrow. _

Bill picked up after Richie's hand clenched on his phone, " _ The rest of us were thinking on meeting up to, uh.. Toast. _ " Bill said and Richie closed his eyes. He can imagine meeting up with his long-time friends and sitting and chatting through the evening with two empty chairs at the table.

"I don't think I can, Billy. Y'see I've got a show tomorrow and it's gonna be a real banger. Can't miss it."

" _ You haven't had a show since Derry. _ " Bill said slowly, just like he used to, so the stutter didn't close in on him. Richie sagged into his seat.

"It's gonna be a banger, Bill, I know it. Gotta be there." He licks his lips as a subtle throb starts up behind his eyes. His palms are starting to sweat and bile creeps up his throat with every passing second.

Bill says, " _ Are you sure, Rich? _ " But his tone changes and it sets Richie off.  _ Are you okay, Rich _ ? He wants to end this conversation.

"It was nice talkin' to ya, Bill. Tell the others I said hi, will ya? Miss you lots." He hangs up quickly before anymore words can stumble out of his mouth and really get Bill's gears turning. He turns the phone off and throws it on the passenger floor, suddenly itchy.  _ He knows, _ his brain tells him.  _ He knows and they're gonna come for you. _

He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and drives off with worse urgency than before. Cops don't bother to pull him over the closer he gets to Derry as if they knew it didn't matter or didn't want to deal with a man who could buy their house with pocket cash. He makes the drive in ten hours, foot lead on the gas. _They can't get him, _he thinks. _They can't stop him._ _They can't. They won't._

He pays the last toll and crosses Maine's border, Richie's heart shriveled and aching behind his ribs. The closer he gets the more he wants to pull over and empty the acid in his stomach, but the urge never gets that strong. Or maybe it's because his hands are solid on the wheel and wouldn't pry off if he wanted to. He's on automatic the entire agonizing drive to Derry, mind 200 miles ahead of his body.  _ Will anything have changed? Is the house still there or have its remains been cleared? Is the bridge still there? _

And he drives, only now noticing the gnawing hunger in his guts and the greasy feeling his hair leaves on his ears and neck, his brain feels heavy in his skull and his ass went numb on the five hour mark. He doesn't stop, though. His foot wouldn't move if his life depended on it. Bad analogy.

His car sputters and spits when he passes the shiny new  _ Welcome to Derry _ sign on his right. He pulls over before he completely stops and stares at his dashboard, only now noticing the flashing yellow low-fuel message. He stares a little longer then slams his fists on the wheel, his forehead following after. He doesn't cry. He takes labored breaths, but doesn't cry.

Eventually, he sits back up and looks in the rear view at the back of the  _ Welcome to Derry _ sign. He watched a couple cars pass, kids and adults alike staring at him, and he reaches in the back, unzipping his duffel and grabbing the first bottle his hand latches onto. He tosses away the cap on the big caramel bottle of bourbon and empties the glass into his emptier stomach. It makes him feel worse, but it's only a passing thought as he throws the bottle to the floor with his phone and reaches back to grab up the bag. He lugs it into his lap and looks over the contents: five or six bottles of liquor squished around the miniature shotgun like fucked up packing peanuts. He zips it up tight and lets another wave of  _ numb _ seep in as he gets out of his car. He doesn't bother to lock the doors or grab his phone.

And he walks. Richie absentmindedly watched the scenery pass and realized here he was, coming back to Derry again with an incredible dread and heartache only a year later. Once he hits sidewalk he swings the bag around to his front and pulls out another bottle- a tall, yellow glass of scotch, this time. He nurses it on the walk there and ignores the stares from the houses as he passes. And he walks.

His stupor takes him to the Kissing Bridge and his heart breaks and he stumbles onto the railing. The new railing of the refurbished bridge. Smooth, white painted beams are under his shaky hands but he looks anyways. He knows exactly where it  _ should _ be, but he sees only crisp wood. He would have cried, probably, if he were sober, but he's not. His eyes do sting, but he just drains the last of the bottle.

Then he brings the bottle down on the beam. It bounces off the wood with a  _ clakk _ , only leaving a dent in the perfect white. He stares at the bottle and and anger curls around his sick little heart like a predatory viper. He brings up the bottle again, last drops racing down his wrist, and arcs it down with a strained cry this time. It breaks and splinters all the way up to the neck and he holds onto the pieces even as they cut his fingers. He picks for the longest piece of the neck and crouches low, right where his carving should be.

Richie brings the glass up and presses it into the painted wood. He drags and drags and digs into the wood but it cuts his fingers more than the sturdy wood itself. It doesn't stop him and he doesn't really feel the sting, anyways- even as blood starts steadily dripping down his arm and alcohol seeps into the cuts. He breaks the tip of the shard a couple times because he wants to cut the letters  _ deeper _ but by the time he finishes the last line on the  _ E _ , it's only shallow scratches in the wood, barely noticeable.

He looks at his bloody hand before he can feel any worse and drops the shard. He doesn't know where he's cut because the glass smeared all the blood around and he can't pick out any origin of pain through the steady throb of his entire hand. His eyes unfocus for a second when he presses his palm to the carving, but he comes back to see blood smeared into the cracks. He can see it now and that's all that matters.  _ R+E _ stands out in a crude smear of red and he plays with the dark paint for a while.

He feels light when he starts walking again, hand leaving bread crumbs the entire way. A police cruiser passes him along the way, but gives him one look and deems it not his problem. Richie wouldn't have stopped walking anyways.

He drifts in a haze and doesn't falter when he almost walks straight into a kid's bike left on the sidewalk. He only falters when his feet suddenly stop and he looks around. And he's here. Right where he stood 28 years ago and right where he was held back as the house collapsed. Here he was, standing dumbfounded at the source of his trauma as his blood  _ plit platted _ on the ground.

There wasn't anything left of the house. The debris was cleared and the hole was filled, but the land was scarred because no grass grew where the old, decrepit house once stood as if all the death rotted the dirt itself. The grass that did grow clumped together in yellow and grey patches all the way to the neighbor's lawn. The only thing that the lot had besides rancid memories was a broken real estate sign on his left and remains of a plastic orange barrier around the property. Richie ignores it and steps to the barren patch of soil. He takes the duffel from his back and tosses it down with a clatter and plants himself next to it, finally letting the agony and alcohol wash over him. Richie digs his bloody hand into the dirt as if he's trying to feel for Eddie and lets himself cry.

He shouldn't be, because he lived over half his life without Eddie and hadn't bat an eye. He shouldn't be because he never thought of Eddie when he had his flings. And he shouldn't be because he didn't have the fucking courage to tell Eddie how he felt when he was  _ alive and next to him _ .

But he is because the feelings resurfaced when he came back to Derry last year and remembered everything that shaped him. He remembered then and he remembers now and even through all the pain, he doesn't want to forget. He tried to move on, but how could he when he  _ couldn't forget _ ? Why should he go pick his life back off the fucking ground when Eddie was here, hundreds of feet under it?

So, Richie cried, hand buried in the disgusting dirt of the old Neibolt House. He cries, because Eddie's grave is  _ here _ \- where so much trauma and pain stains the land. Final resting spot, if you can even  _ call _ it that, for a lot of people and Eddie's just another casualty. Just another missing person's report to fill out and another load of paperwork for some unlucky person.

But Richie knew the  _ man _ , so it was left to him and his friends to mourn, to know what  _ really _ happened. Eddie's not missing, he's here, crushed and decaying under the dirt of an old slaughterhouse and centuries-old graveyard. Richie waits for an Eddie-zombie to start clawing up from the ground and grab his wrist like that one movie,  _ Carrie _ , but it's only him and his ache. Because they killed It and It killed Eddie and he's not coming back. Rotting hundreds of feet below where Richie sat.

Richie laughed and cried, only keeping his contacts from swimming out by keeping his them clenched shut. He laughs because how pathetic is he? The other Losers moved on and got back to their lives or started new ones each with their happy ending and here he was, bleeding and crying into the cursed soil of Neibolt because he never really left in the first place.

He shuffles to the side and retches up only alcohol and acid onto the dirt, feeling the rancid smell pierce his nose and eyes. He hazily spits and palms dried up dirt onto the mess like he's building a moat around a sandcastle on a beach he doesn't want to be at. He doesn't feel lighter, heaving up almost two bottles of liquor, but it spurs him on.

"Sorry, Eddie. Didn't mean to." Richie sort-of slurs and looks at the wet soil of blood and tears between his legs, then his hand, still sluggishly pumping out his heart. Alcohol will do that. "You'd hate me right now, yanno? Messing up your place like this. Sorry."

Richie laughs, rubbing around the wet, dark dirt on his palm and fingers. "But I got your attention, huh! Always was good at riling you up, yanno? Shove my finger in your ear or spit my snot on the sidewalk. Talk my head off for hours. I miss that. Miss you." He says and the floodgates open, contacts slipping from his eyes and he brushes them off his cheeks with his clean hand because he can't really feel his right arm anymore.

"Never told you when we all got back together. Never said.. Never told any of you what I remembered. As a kid. Never told you because you had a  _ wife _ and a life to go back to and everyone did and I was always alone and you all had lives! People! And I was.. Alone. Never understood why until I came back and we all came back. It was you, Eds. It was always you.

"You'd yell at me and get so angry but it was the only way you'd  _ look _ at me and it's so fucked up. I did everything I did to you just so you'd  _ look _ at me. Sometimes you smiled and I'd go to sleep thinking about it. I'd see you the next day and you'd be angry 'bout something but it didn't matter 'cause I'd make you look at me. Then you left and we all left and my life was a haze, going through the motions and then we came back and I remembered. It scared me so bad 'cause I missed my chance. You had a life and  _ I missed my chance _ .

"And I knew we were all gonna go away when we killed It. Knew we were gonna go back to our lives and move on but you didn't, so I didn't and I'm here right now talking to the fucking dirt about someone I should be spending a fucking birthday with but I won't because they're dead and there's nothing I can do!

"Theres.. Nothing I can  _ do _ ."

His face is wet and his shirt and jeans are too. Everything hurts and everything left in him poured into those words, so his bloodied arm is weak and shaky as he reaches for the duffel. His fingers slip on the zipper and he barely has enough in him to pull the damn thing down. But he does and he has to use both hands to grab the gun, but he does. He sets it in his lap and looks at it, briefly and barely remembering loading it a few days ago before he'd left. Sliding the slugs neat in their chambers to get ready for the show. He's ready now and he clicks the safety off and digs the butt of it into the dirt, resting his chin on the dual barrels.

Two things happen when he slots his finger on the trigger. Tires squeal behind him and two desperate, scared voices call to him.  _ "Richie, no!" "Richie!" _ Two people run for him but that's not what has his attention because the second thing that happened when he pressed the sliver of cold metal was the gun being torn from his fingers by the wind. He didn't drop it because the skin under his chin stung and the gun was laying in the dirt three feet away. Hands grabbed him as he slowly got to his knees, staring at the gun.

"Eddie?" He said and tried to crawl for the gun. The hands were stronger than him and kept him in place but he tried to shake them off anyways. "Did'ya see that?" He asked and a man came in front of him and kicked the gun away. Richie watched it skid into the yellow grass on his left. "Eddie?" He asked again, looking at the patch of slowly drying dirt beneath him and began pawing through it, trying to dig. "Was that you?" He asked again and someone came and leant before him, grabbing his face but he didn't look and didn't hear what they were saying. They lift him up and away and Richie puts the last of his strength into the struggle. He stares at the pile of disgusting dirt and tries to wrestle out of the people's grip. "Eddie, don't leave me!" He warns, eyes wild. "Come back, Eddie!"

"Don't leave me, Eddie." His voice gets quieter, weaker.

"Please, Eddie." He whispers and his eyelids sag.

"Don't go." 

Richie sinks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not dead, i swear. just goin thru shit. here's food. and more losers.

Richie flutters for a while and he sees a lot of strange things. Most of the time it's dark and blurry and he can't feel much, but he doesn't mind because he's floating and numb and everything is  _ quiet _ . He can't remember anything but that's okay because he feels so  _ light _ . He gets flashes of memories or visions sometimes and he can't understand them because they're gone by the time he focuses. The longer he floats; though, the more he sees. And  _ hears _ .

Voices cut through the inky emptiness and he strains to hear them at first, but they don't make any sense so he floats. " _ Richie… Dead.. Kicking.. Lucky.. Calling for- _ " The visions get longer too and he makes out figures in the light, swaying and looming. He doesn't like the figures because they never leave. One of them, at least. He can see more after the visions keep coming. He sees people in pink and blue and white and red hair and they all talk and hover. But the one that never leaves doesn't look like them. It's  _ grey _ and it feels more real than the rest of them. Richie doesn't like that one because it makes him feel uncomfortable and cold and he doesn't know why.

That one touches him when no one else is around and it makes Richie's skin crawl. He feels ice and  _ anger _ and it's the only thing he can feel as he floats and when he can see. Sometimes he feels fingers in his hair and he likes that, but not the sorrow that follows and none of what he's feeling is  _ his _ and he wants to escape. He doesn't like the distant voices or the touches or what he sees, so he closes his eyes and sleeps.

It makes everything worse. Everything gets so  _ loud  _ and now all he feels is panic and worry and he hates it. He tries to sink deeper but the alarms are too shrill and his skin prickles and he covers his ears. It's all blurring into one and he can't feel one thing from another and he tries to cover his ears but nothing  _ works. _

_ Just let me sleep! _ He screams, but he can't even hear  _ that _ . Lightning cracks through his body and he falls, wide eyed and delirious. He falls back into the light where everything is  _ louder _ and it's hazy and he feels sick, but the voices keep calling.  _ "Richie!" "Please!" "Another!"  _ He tries to hide but he can't and,  _ God, why can't I just sleep? _

But the darkness does come again and he chases it, trying to claw deeper. He sinks and everything gets distant and he can't see, but he glides away towards the numbing. He reaches further into the black and suddenly he's not alone. Something grabs him by his arms with tight fingers and the voice is so clear. " _ Wake up, Jackass!"  _ Richie tries to see, but everything is still so dark and the voice doesn't echo because it's  _ right here _ in the nothing with him. He doesn't know why or who but the voice doesn't care. " _ If you fucking die, I'm going to kick the shit out of you! Wake the fuck up! Wake up!" _

Words fall from his lips and he doesn't know what he's saying because nothing makes sense. 

"Eddie?" He whispers and the fingers dig further into his skin and that means it must mean something. But the voice doesn't get another chance to say anything because his chest heaves with electricity and Richie's sucked back into the light. Only this time he stays and chokes up a name he suddenly remembers who it belongs to.

  
  


The next few days pass slowly and Richie feels guilty during every second. He's swarmed by people and thoughts and  _ memories _ and it's too fucking much. He remembers Neibolt and the fever dream that came after. He remembers it  _ all _ and he shouldn't, but he does. It's all he thinks about as the days pass because all he has now is time.

Ben, Bill, and Bev are here and rarely leave his side and it makes Richie's skin fucking  _ crawl _ because he can't get away from their sad, worried faces. He can't leave because he can barely move and there's an IV in his arm and one of them is constantly in the room. They tell him that Mike is recovering from kidney failure at his home in Florida and Richie is happy because he couldn't stand anymore  _ sad faces _ . He's glad he doesn't have his contacts or glasses because he can barely stand what he blurrily sees in the first place.

The three leave him alone during the first two days after he wakes up. They try  _ not _ to spill pity from their eyes but they do and Richie passes the dragging time in his head and picking at his wrapped hand. He can't feel anything to his right bicep and he hopes it's just because of the pain meds. He pokes and prods at his palm until blood seeps through and the doctors put a wrist cast on him with hard glares. He pokes at that, too.

They start talking to him on the third day and Richie wants to jump out the fucking window. Bill tries, but he stutters and lets Ben and Bev hold his hand or touch his leg and talk to him. Bev tells him that Bill had called them when he went to Richie's house to make sure he was really okay. He called them after he found an empty house, a missing car, and a box of shells on the bed with no accompanying gun. She and Ben immediately flew to Derry because she knew that's where he was.  _ She's seen it before. _

_ I would've, _ Richie thinks.  _ You were too late. But… Eddie. _ He doesn't tell them about Eddie.

Ben tells him that they'd been the ones to find him and he'd almost died on the way to the hospital and he'd almost died a week later because his heart suddenly just  _ quit _ . They each looked so  _ scared _ but Richie isn't bothered because he knows. He  _ remembers _ that. Every bit.

After they fill him in, the three of them exchange looks and it puts a lead ball in his stomach. Like a conversation passed through the air, Bill and Bev come and join Ben at his bedside, closing in like hawks. Richie doesn't like it one bit because  _ he's _ the food.

Ben, tired-eyed and weary, puts gentle fingers over his bandaged wrist and Richie would recoil if he could feel his fucking arm. "You.. Were calling out to Eddie. Both times. Why? What did you see?"

Richie wanted to say,  _ I was drunk and dying. People do stupid shit when they're dying, _ but something in each of their eyes stopped the words from forming behind his lips. They looked..  _ Hopeful _ . Each of them had eyes of intrigue and he had to remember he fought an  _ eater of worlds _ with these three. Each of them had seen shit that shouldn't ever make sense. He trusted his life with them and they were  _ here _ even if he didn't want them to be.  _ They came for you _ .

So, he tells them. "I didn't… See him, exactly. I'm not really even sure it  _ was _ him at Neibolt, but it felt like it because something  _ was _ there." He turns to Ben and Bev, the one's who'd been there and they met his eyes with the same intensity. "You saw it, right? I didn't drop the gun. It was  _ taken _ from me. Flew across the damn ground." He says and their lips thin out because they almost saw him shoot himself, but he ignores that and presses his fingers to the bottom of his chin where the barrel scraped him.

"I thought you did throw it when you heard us coming." Bev says, hands trying to smooth out the wrinkles of his scratchy, pale blue hospital sheets. "But we grabbed you and you couldn't keep your eyes open or hold yourself up. You were so weak, Rich. You didn't have the strength to do that. And you kept calling to Eddie like he was  _ right there _ and I can't help but think that he  _ was _ ."

Richie nods and their eyes look to her when he talks. "You saw it, Bev. In the deadlights. I did do it, didn't I?"

She pulls her hands into her lap and doesn't meet his eyes and if Ben weren't on the other side of the bed, he probably would have pulled her into his arms. "You did." Bev says and none of them would have heard if it hadn't been so quiet. Bill takes her hand and Ben smiles his thanks.

Bill looks up and squeezes Bev's hand, "But Eddie stopped you. And you said his name again when your heh-h-heart.." He stops and breathes slow, looking at all of them, now. "It can't be a coincidence that you said his name when both times you were almost dead."

"He  _ was _ there this last time because I heard him." Richie says and all of their eyes land on him, each holding surprise like they'd been given more than they hoped for. "I remember every bit of these last two weeks. I wasn't awake, but I'd catch glimpses of what was happening, but the rest of it was just black. I mean that.. I was  _ awake _ , but I was kinda.. Floating." Richie pauses, watching Ben's thumb smooth over his numb knuckles. "But I did see things and I think I saw  _ him  _ because I saw all of you but it.. He was  _ grey _ and didn't look the same as the rest of you. And he was  _ there _ when I sank because he  _ talked to me. _ "

Richie met all of their eyes and it felt so good that they believed him and he smiled. "I  _ know _ it was him because he called me a jackass and threatened to kick the shit out of me if I didn't wake up."

Bill choked on a laugh, looking stunned, and in an instant the heavy dread and tension sailed out the window. The absurdity of it all has each of them doubling over because there's hope and none of them know what  _ for _ but it makes them happy. Ben moves over to Bill and Bev and they scoot closer to Richie and huddle like that for a while. They crowd around him and the hole in his chest  _ craves _ it and he makes sure he's touching each of his friends because it's been so  _ long _ and he's not alone. 

It's the best he's felt in decades and he doesn't let any of them leave. None of them want to; though, and Bev's the one that lowers the railing and climbs right in with him. The bed barely fits the both of them, but she wraps around his right side and pillows her head on his unfeeling arm. But he feels her breath on his neck and her hair on his ear and her hand on his chest and that makes it okay. He feels  _ warm _ and  _ loved _ and Richie wanted to shoot himself again for thinking he was ever really alone.

As he grabs her hand with his healthy left, he sees Bill and Ben look at each other and exchange a playful glance. Richie knows what's going to happen and has only seconds to brace as the two climb on as well. The bed creaks and groans under 500 pounds, but none of them really care when Ben climbs onto his stomach and Bill takes up the last inch of bed on his left. They all settle in and laugh and the weight of them all pressed so close is  _ euphoric _ , so Richie lets the emotions take him.

He presses his cheek to Bill's hair and watches Ben, chin propped on his crossed arms, settled between Richie's legs, and he heaves just to watch him bounce. They all laugh and they're all kids again and everything feels right. Richie feels so safe and content and the feelings swarm him until his eyes blur more and the well of tears spill over.

They cry with him and they're all as tangled with each other as they are with Richie. None of them care if someone walks in because they're just a bunch of kids huddled in a bed that barely holds them. They're all happy and warm and  _ alive _ and nothing else matters, so they stay there until each doze off.

Sometime later when the light is peeking through the blinds, Richie blinks his heavy eyes and lifts his head off Bill's, wiping away the hair that sticks in his stubble, longer now. He doesn't know what time it is, but they're all still wrapped around him and Richie  _ really _ likes this development.

Ben looks up and he has that scrunched-eyebrows look which means he's been thinking for a while. He rubs his friend's arm where it's wrapped around Bill and says, "Mornin', hunny."

Ben's face clears up and he smiles, patting Richie's chest. "Hey." His eyes aren't as dark as they were during the last few days and Richie feels proud, for some strange reason. He brings his left arm up around Bill, careful to not wake him, and gestures all of the bodies on the bed.

"Y'know I'm in a bit of a pickle, Benny baby." He says and watches Ben sigh and give a waiting look. Just like they always used to. "S'cause I'm craving a nice glass of water, but I seem to have gained 300 pounds!" He feins shock and outrage, throwing his hand around. "Do you think, my handsome love, that you could fetch me one? Oh, pretty please!"

Ben can't hide his smile and he laughs quietly, but slowly pries himself from Bev's unconscious grasp and climbs off the bed. It's cold where Ben just was draped over him, though he doesn't worry about that and Richie blows his friend a wet kiss as he grabs his jean jacket where it was tossed on a corner table under the window. Ben catches the floating smooch with a wink and promises he'll be quick before he steps out into the hall.

Bev shifts and tucks her hand between him and Bill at his waist and Richie has half the mind to feel trapped, but the warmth and comfort override that pretty damn quick. He wraps his good arm back around Bill and looks at his other hand, still dead and hanging off the railing. He follows the tube of IV from his forearm to the machines displaying fuzzy messages and numbers that he doesn't know how to read. They beat steadily and he can't help the dark humor that creeps into his mind.  _ Looks like you're out of the pan and back in the ocean, this time. Good luck explaining your  _ vacation _ to your boss. Still time to slit your wrists. _

He grips Bill's arm and turns away from the monitor. His friends are here, quite literally, and it was the only reminder he needed to remember he wasn't alone. After the trial with Bowers' murder, they'd all grown distant again- more habit than choice. It was fine for them, with just phone calls few and far between, but it wasn't for Richie. He only had his therapist and a few others to fall back on, but it wasn't nearly enough. He didn't have anyone as close to him as the Losers were. 

He knew they cared-  _ two of them were huddled in his arms _ \- but Richie couldn't stand the agony and ache alone. It hurt so fucking bad that he was left to rot and decay after the trial in his big California house while everyone else was  _ happy _ . They'd call him and Richie would have to lie and fake how happy  _ he _ was, but he'd do it with a weighted heart. Maybe if he'd put in the effort and  _ talked _ to them, it would have turned out differently. But Richie was not that kind of man. He was very good at tucking things away.

_ Eddie _ , he thinks and his eyes scan the room, though he knows he's not about to see someone. His friend's ghost was the last thing he was expecting when he came back to Derry, but he can't say he puts it past this cursed little town.  _ Wake up, Jackass! Wake up! _ He wanted to cry again, but his eyelids had  _ Sorry, All Out!  _ signs hanging behind them. So, he smiled instead. He didn't know what  _ for _ because Eddie was still dead, but it meant that he was still here, even if not living and breathing. He doesn't doubt it for a second because it was  _ Derry _ . Stranger things have happened.

He rubs Bill's waist and Bev's hand tucked there and looks at them both, ignoring a rising crick in his neck. Bill's only wearing an open, rolled sleeve red button-up with a dark grey shirt and blue jeans; none of which looked very warm. Bev wasn't any better with a thin white turtleneck and black skinny jeans. Richie figured it was the exhaustion that let them sleep because he knew for a fact he couldn't pass out in those clothes or without a blanket. Maybe it was just him, but it still made him wonder just  _ what _ he put his friends through. He doubted they even changed often from when they got here, based on how slick Bill's hair was.  _ That _ was a good contender for top place in  _ Reasons Why Richie Thomas Tozier is a Douchebag. #1, makes his friends forget basic hygiene by burying them in stress. _

Yet, they still curled up to him and tucked into his chest, sleeping away the sorrows.  _ It's the pity. They only feel sorry for you. _ Richie would have latched onto that thought and sunk into self-loathing if the counter hadn't slipped in.  _ Bill came for you because he cares. Bev and Ben came because they care. Get over yourself _ . Yeah, he'd settle at that. They  _ did _ hightail it so he didn't shoot himself in broad daylight. Guess that counts for something.

Ben decided to come back then, creaking open the door and stepping around the corner where the small closet was. He had a good armful of various colored snacks along with a few bottles of water and Richie never felt hungrier. Ben came over on Bill's side where the rolling table was and set the assortment down. Trail mix, gummies, chips, candy bars- it was a fucking knockoff Halloween basket. Richie stared at the snacks, then at Ben. 

"Baby," He said and Ben sat on the edge of the bed, moving Bill's legs to the side. "I'm the fat one of the group now, you can't be doing this, man! You're not even giving me a chance!"

Bev stirred and kicked up a leg onto his own, so Richie lowered his voice. Ben grabbed a pack of gummies, "With that hairline, you haven't stood a chance since '05, dude."

A quick laugh bubbles from his chest as he stares slack-jawed. Ben doesn't even look  _ sheepish _ after that comment and  _ God, Richie wanted to jump him right there. _ "Holy shit, Ben." He settles with a pleased smile, "I haven't heard anything like that from you in so long. That was good."

Ben nods, popping gummies and chewing. Richie would grab a pack if he wasn't tangled. Silence creeps on but he doesn't mind because it's comfortable and safe. He missed this.  _ He really fucking did. _

But that deep thinking look came across Ben again and Richie's relaxation died off. "Do you…" Ben said, leaving the snacks abandoned in his lap, "Do you think he's here? Like, right now?"

Neither of their eyes pick off the floor because as much as this town and the creatures in it put them all through, they know the limits. They're not about to see their dead friends, even if they  _ might _ be there. "I don't know," Richie says, bringing his hand up to pet through Bill's hair. "I really don't know." He stops and his mouth opens before he really has a chance to think. "Unplug my IV and we'll find out."

Maybe he wanted to lighten the mood, but it doesn't work and Ben just turns to look at him with such a pained expression and searching eyes. There's no laugh or  _ Beep Beep, Richie  _ because it must hit that deep and they must really worry about him. Maybe he shot all of them at Neibolt instead of himself.

He looks away from Ben's sad eyes and wishes he could get up because he's starting to feel trapped now. He wants to pry these arms off him and find his car and maybe come back next year or maybe he won't. Even with his friends here, it won't fix the life he'd let crash to the ground. They can't make his jokes land again or have his smile reach his eyes anymore. The hurt is still there and his hurt reaches them too. Richie doesn't like hurting others.

Ben looks away and says, "An ouija board, do you think that would work? I mean, if he's a ghost.."

Richie replies, "As far as I know, yeah. But ouija boards are bullshit- never worked when I tried." Ben deflates and it makes Richie's chest ache. He could rephrase that he'd tried back in his college years on a crappy board with everyone drunk or close, but he lets that drop.

Bev rumbles on his chest and pries her hand from between him and Bill to wipe stray hair off her face. Richie would have jumped if he hadn't been held down by them. "Does it hurt to try?" She says. sitting up, trying to straighten her matted and frizzy hair. Both Ben and Richie watched her because even though Ben may have more days of seeing her in the early morning, she was still as beautiful as ever- 14 or 40. She continued, "With an  _ actual  _ board, not like the ones at Walmart for 9 year olds."

Bev got up and popped a few cracks in her back and Richie used the opportunity to slowly scoot over so Bill had less of a chance to break the railing and topple to the floor. He pulled his arm from under his friend's head and Bill just buried himself into the pillow instead, turning onto his stomach and throwing an arm over Richie's stomach. He smiled at that and pulled his limp arm from hanging over the rail, uncaring that he still couldn't feel it. Richie looked up at Bev and Ben's pondering looks and shot a comment, "What, go to some sketchy voodoo website and wait 5-8 business days for it to ship out?"

"I could make one, I guess." Ben replied, attention back on the abandoned gummies. He popped a few in his mouth, "Make it special, I guess?"

Bev walked to the table by the window and grabbed her jacket from the pile where Ben got his and threw it on, long and army green. "The hardware store on Main is still open, I can swing down there." She patted her pockets and pulled out a chain of keys.

Ben tossed the empty pack into the bin next to Richie's bed and stood up. "That'd be good. Need me to come along?" Bev raises an eyebrow and grabs his hands, laying a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I've been in your shop enough to know what you need." She says and Ben ducks his head with a smile, and Bev seeks out his lips to kiss him proper. They're both smiling and so affectionate; it makes Richie look down. He wishes he'd had a happy ending like that. He wishes he'd gotten married or at least kept a relationship for more than two months or never came when Mike called. Maybe Stan had the right idea.

"Richard, you fucking baby." Bev says and and he lifts his eyes, looking both surprised and confused. She drops Ben's hands and comes marching and Richie settles for  _ terrified _ instead. She gets close and leans right over Bill and Richie can't even comprehend what's happening even as her soft hands grab his jaw. Bev leans in and plants a loud smack on his lips, sending tingles through his entire mouth. It was over in a second, but it brought back such an onslaught of memories that would probably keep him company for the next few days. She pulled back with warm eyes and a quirked lip and it was  _ just _ like they used to do behind the school or in his room after passing a joint.

The kiss leaves him dazed, but he has half the mind to glance at Ben, who  _ gratefully _ , was trying to hide giggles behind his fist. Bev shot her husband a look over her shoulder and Ben only laughed harder. Then, she gave Richie a coy look. "You need one from him, too?"

Richie licked his lips without mind, "If I said yes, would you let me slip tongue?"

"Not a chance in hell, Tozier." She said and Richie watches her stand, then at the finger pointed at him. "I remember your fucking tongue- I'd never get him back."

Richie feels the back of his neck heat up, but he still winks in their direction. "Well, my tongue is available 24/7 if either you or Adonis there change your minds."

Bev looks at Richie with an eyebrow raised for a good minute and he can just see the waves of thoughts in her head. Then, she turns to Ben and pats his chest. "We're having a chat later." 

Both Richie and Ben stare as she leaves out the hallway, then at each other. Ben's eyes are wide and he's unblinking and Richie guarantees he looks the same.

"I'm too old for this," Ben blurts, clearing the air and sitting back on the bed. Richie smacks him with his foot.

"We're the same age, how do you think  _ I  _ feel? My tongue is in danger."

"Alright!" Ben says, throwing his palms up, "Enough about your tongue!"

"What about a tongue?" Bill drawls, stirring awake. A laugh catches in Richie's throat as Ben's shoulders sag. Bill sits up and his hair is worse than Bev's and he looks so  _ confused _ that Richie absolutely bellows. 

And he's still laughing far after Ben swats him and leaves for a walk and Bill darts off for the bathroom.


End file.
